


Insanity

by boolucole



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: #And hilarity, #Because Harry/Cedric, #Except not really, #So very sorry, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boolucole/pseuds/boolucole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, when the Wizarding World is being particularly insulting or nonsensical, Harry Potter just kind of...snaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dismissed

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will be posted in chronological order, so a chapter taking place before chapter 3 but after chapter 2 would bump chapter 3 to chapter 4, 4 to 5, etc.
> 
> Chapter 3 is new!

The Golden Trio tore up the aisle between the desks of McGonagall’s classroom and stopped in front of her desk, panting. After barely a moment Harry managed to get out urgently, “We need to see Professor Dumbledore, _immediately_!”

A bewildered McGonagall stared for a moment, then explained, “I’m afraid Professor Dumbledore is not here. He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and left immediately for London.”

“He’s gone?! _Now_?” Harry cried out in dismay, “But this is important! It’s about the Philosopher’s Stone!”

McGonagall’s eyes widened in shock, and she managed to get out a feeble, “How do you know…?” before Harry cut her off.

“Somebody’s going to try and steal it!” he blurted out, pleading with her to understand, but she was having none of it. Composing herself quickly, McGonagall gave him a stern glare.

“I don't know how you three found out about the stone, but I can assure you it is perfectly well-protected. Now would you go back to your dormitories? Quietly,” she told them crisply before bending back over the essays she’d been grading.

Now, you must understand that Harry had been brushed off all his life. His teachers, his relatives, everyone he tried to tell something important to either thought he was lying or thought he was taking credit for what Dudley had done. He thought he had quashed down all the irritation and sadness at not being believed, but quashing something and hiding it away are remarkably similar.

And right now, being told that somebody stealing the most powerful alchemical artefact in the world was pure and utter hogwash brought those feelings back to the surface. So, with all the stress coming from worrying about the stone, and with that huge influx of emotion, something inside Harry just…snapped.

“No,” he declared, straightening up, “We will _not_ go back to our dormitories.”

He placed his hands on her desk and reiterated, “Professor, we just told you that somebody is going to try to steal the Philosopher’s Stone. An artefact that could be used in conjunction with ancient magicks to bring the Dark Lord Voldemort back to life.”

McGonagall flinched at the name, but Harry continued undeterred. “An artefact that could be used to make unlimited amounts of gold, and therefore destroy the carefully-balanced economy of the entire Wizarding World. We tell you that it’s going to be stolen, and you just brush us off like dust off your robes. Well I won’t stand for it!”

He grabbed the wrists of both McGonagall and Ron, who had Hermione clutching onto his forearm, and with a huge influx of power and a crack that echoed throughout the entire castle, he broke through the ancient wards and Apparated to the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side.

“This is the door that leads to the room Fluffy is in,” Harry told McGonagall when everyone had regained their bearings, “Hermione opened it with a first-year Alohomora.”

He himself then opened it with an Alohomora, and McGonagall’s eye widened. They widened further when she saw Fluffy, but Harry simply took out a pre-charmed guitar he had bought in Diagon Alley and tapped it with his wand.

A soothing melody began resonating from the strings, and soon Fluffy was snoring peacefully. Harry levitated the dog’s paw out of the way and opened the trapdoor, taking out another store-bought bauble. It was a witch-light, ‘rather fitting’ he had thought at the time, and when he tapped it with his wand it lit up. He dropped it down the hole and, after a few seconds, it hit the bottom of the shaft.

“A soft and squishy plant to soften the fall and put a thief into a false sense of security. The plant itself is probably very deadly, though. Hermione?” Harry asked his friend, and she replied promptly.

“Devil’s Snare, a deceptively deadly plant that binds and strangles its victims before they can react. It dislikes heat and light,” she told him, and Harry gave a short hum before shooting an _Incendio_ down at it. The plant withered and shied away from the flames, and Harry jumped down without further ado. Near the bottom he cast _Wingardium Leviosa_ on his clothes and settled softly on the floor, then levitated the other three down.

“Mr. Potter, I must ask what the meaning of this is!” McGonagall demanded, and Harry looked over his shoulder with an almost bored expression.

“A first year just made it past two of your so-called ‘impenetrable defenses’ in five minutes flat, just to prove you wrong. Imagine if it was someone who wanted to actually get the Stone,” he said to her, giving McGonagall something to think about. She didn’t speak again until they emerged from the hall and found themselves in a large, circular chamber.

“Flitwick’s defense,” McGonagall said automatically, “Flying keys charmed to attack anybody who mounts those brooms over there.”

She pointed at said brooms, but Harry wasn’t interested.

“ _Immobulus,_ ” he said almost lazily, then, “ _Accio_ key for that door.”

A huge, rusty key with a bent wing zoomed into his hand, weaving around the immobilized others. He inserted it into the lock and opened the door, gesturing graciously for the other three to enter. They did so with no small amount of hesitation.

A short hallway later they found themselves in a dimly lit room, torches flaring a moment later to reveal a chessboard. “Well this is just suspicious,” Harry commented offhandedly, and McGonagall looked at him sharply.

“I’m sorry, Mister Potter?” she asked him frostily, and he gave her a serene smile.

“I bet Dumbledore suggested this, right? Well, it just so happens that one of my best friends is the best chess player Hogwarts has ever seen,” he said, ignoring Ron’s puffing up in pride, “He’d have no problem playing across if it came to that. As it is…”

He trailed off and simply walked around the board by way of the trench defeated pieces were sent to, stepping carefully over the shards of the pieces there. The others followed, McGonagall blushing sheepishly.

The door behind the line of black pieces opened into a horrible-smelling room, and in the middle of that room sat a fully-grown mountain troll. “I think we’ve already established we could take care of this with Wingardium Leviosa,” Harry said, and with a twist of his wand and a whisper of, “ _Somnium,_ ”  the troll was sent to sleep. He walked briskly to the other door, the others following with their robes over their noses and their eyes darting between the troll and Harry.

The third room Harry ignored the potions completely, saying as the flames sprang up, “My History of Magic textbook mentioned that witches and wizards escaped the Salem witch burnings with flame-freezing charms, so I looked one up,” he explained, and with a muttered, “ _Frigidus Ignis_ ,”, he simply walked through the black flames. The others followed after McGonagall cast the same spell on them, and down a short flight of steps was a large oblong room with the Mirror of Erised in the middle.  
  
“Here we are, the room containing the Stone!” Harry exclaimed happily, walking forward to gaze into the Mirror. He stood there for a few moments, then told them, “This is the Mirror of Erised, an enchanted mirror that shows what you want most.”

He pointed at the inscription on the top of the Mirror, reciting, “I show not your face, but your heart’s desire. This is probably the only thing that would stump anyone trying to get the Stone. Stump, but not defeat.”

Looking the Mirror up and down, Harry continued, “Professor Dumbledore probably wanted to capture the person trying to steal the Stone, not stop them.”

“Well done, Mr. Potter,” a voice drawled from behind them, and three of the four whirled around in alarm. Harry simply turned with an air of in-control calmness and came face to face with…a sarcastically-clapping Professor Quirrel.

“Hey Squirrel,” Harry said nonchalantly, giving a small smile as the possessed teacher twitched, “Come for the Stone, have you?”

Quirrel raised an eyebrow and said, “Very good, Mr. Potter. How did you guess it was me?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Harry began with the tone of somebody stating the obvious, “Whenever you’re near my scar starts to hurt, said scar was given to me by the most evil Dark Lord in a century, and that turban you got from the African tribe? No African tribe _I_ know of uses turbans as a reward. Not to mention that cliché garlic-with-a-hint-of-undead smell.”

He shrugged and added, “Besides, nobody _that_ seemingly pathetic couldn’t _not_ be evil. So, who’s that on the back of your head, then?”

Professor McGonagall looked at Harry in alarm, but Quirrel merely smiled and reached up, beginning to unwind his turban. Hermione, who had switched from Ron to Harry when she saw how in-control he was, clutched his arm in fright as the Professor slash professional actor drew the big reveal out further than was strictly necessary.

Harry finally got tired of waiting and shot an _Incendio_ at the turban.

“GYAH!” Quirrel yelled, unwinding the flaming turban faster. He had no doubt used an Undetectable Expansion charm because the thing went on further than should have been possible for a turban of that size, but finally he got to the end and flung in on the ground. Panting slightly, Quirrel ground out a, “Have you no patience, Mr. Potter?”

“I’m eleven,” Harry answered cheerfully.

Quirrel gave him a flat look as he deadpanned, “Right.”

Clearing his throat and composing his face, he continued, “So, Mr. Potter, you know why I am here. Give me the Stone and you won’t what am I standing in?” he suddenly broke off. He had been slowly stalking forward, and his foot had landed in a rather large puddle of red liquid.

 _'It is unimportant! Get the stone!'_ ground out a demonic, sibilant voice that made McGonagall puff herself up like a frightened cat and both Hermione and Ron whimper like they'd just seen a dementor.

“Would you believe it’s strawberry milkshake?” Harry asked him innocently, completely ignoring the voice of Lord Voldemort, and Quirrel shot him a glare.

“No,” he deadpanned, and Harry pouted

“Gryffindor courage?” the raven proposed, and Quirrel glared harder.

“ _No,_ ” he reiterated, raising his voice.

”Dungeon nectar?” Harry put forth, and Quirrel gave a wordless snarl.

“Mr. Potter!” he demanded loudly.

Harry sighed and relented, “Fine. It’s that lovely Slytherin couple from seventh year.”

...

......

.........

“Come again?” Quirrel said after a moment, but Harry only shrugged.

“They were threatening me,” he said, as if that explained everything, and Quirrel looked down at the mess coating his shoes half in wonder and half in fear.

“How did you even _do_ this? You’re a first year!” he exclaimed.

“A dollop of fairy dust,” Harry confided with a smile, and Quirrel gave him a look.

“Seriously, Mr. Potter,” he said patiently, and Harry smiled wider.

“I ripped the tag off a mattress,” he replied immediately.

“Mr. Potter,” Quirrel said more firmly, and Harry stuck his tongue between his teeth.

“A clothespin and some ingenuity,” he told the professor.

“Mr. Potter!” Quirrel yelled, and Harry tilted his head.

“Yes?” he asked pleasantly.

“I demand you tell me how you-“, Quirrel began, but he was cut off by Harry’s yell of, “Now!”

Hermione had been sneaking off to the side inconspicuously, and at Harry’s yell she pulled a lever hiding behind a pillar. The floor underneath Quirrel vanished, and he fell into a dark hole. Interestingly enough, it sounded as though they could hear  _two_ voices screaming, although of course that was ridiculous.

“Well, that went well,” Harry said with satisfaction, Ron and Hermione nodding happily, “Come on guys, it’s dinner time!”

Dramatic music came out of nowhere, and lightning flashed across the ceiling.

“…Well alright then,” Harry said after a moment.

“Now hold on!”, McGonagall protested after a moment of gathering her thoughts, “What…what just happened?!”

“We trapped Quirrel in a hole,” Harry said with that ‘duh’ tone.

“Well, yes, but… _how_?!” she asked helplessly, and Harry beamed.

“Trial and error, Professor,” he told her, but then his smile dimmed a little as he amended, “…Mostly error.”  
  
_- **Earlier** \- _ __  
  
“Pull the lever, Ron!” Harry commanded, and Ron pulled the lever.

“ _Wrong leveeeeeerrrr…_ !” Harry’s yell echoed from the hole.

 _- **Now** \- _ _  
_  
“Why did you even _have_ that lever?” Hermione asked curiously, and Harry admitted cheerfully, “I’ve no idea.”

“Right!” McGonagall interrupted loudly, “So, what’s this?”, gesturing to the mess Quirrel had stepped in.

“Strawberry jam,” Harry said with a laugh, and Professor McGonagall sighed in relief.

“Oh, good,” she said, and _Scourgify_ ’d it away.

* * *

Professor McGonagall was just tucking into her supper when Professor Dumbledore tapped his glass. “I have just been informed that two of our Seventh Year Slytherins have gone missing. If anyone has any information, please inform a teacher.”  
  
McGonagall blinked a couple of times, looked to the cheerfully-waving Golden Trio, and pushed her plate away from her.


	2. Conquest

He was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.

His heart beating very fast, Harry stood listening to the chill silence. Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? And where was Ginny? He pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns.

Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. More than once, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one stir.

Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall. Harry had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkey-ish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard’s sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, face down, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair.

“Ginny!” Harry muttered urgently, sprinting to her and dropping to his knees as he pleaded, “Ginny — don’t be dead — please don’t be dead —”

He flung his wand aside, grabbed Ginny’s shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was white as marble, and as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn’t Petrified. But then she must be…

“Ginny, please wake up,” Harry muttered desperately, shaking her. Ginny’s head lolled hopelessly from side to side. He tried for a few moments more before his efforts were interrupted.

“She won’t wake,” said a soft voice.

Harry jumped and spun around on his knees.

A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him.

“Tom — Tom Riddle?”

Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry’s face. “What d’you mean, she won’t wake?” Harry said desperately, “She’s not — she’s not —?”

“She’s still alive,” said Riddle, “But only just.”

Harry only stared at him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen. “Are you a ghost?” Harry said uncertainly

“A memory,” said Riddle quietly, “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

He pointed toward the floor near the statue’s giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary Harry had found in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. For a second, Harry wondered how it had got there — but there were more pressing matters to deal with.

“You’ve got to help me, Tom,” Harry said, raising Ginny’s head again, “We’ve got to get her out of here. There’s a basilisk…I don’t know where it is, but it could be along any moment…Please, help me.”

Riddle didn’t move. Harry, sweating, managed to hoist Ginny half off the floor, and bent to pick up his wand again.

But his wand had gone.

“Did you see —?” he began, looking up at Riddle. The boy was still watching him — twirling Harry’s wand between his long fingers. “Oh,” Harry said with relief, stretching out his hand for it, “Thanks.”

A smile curled the corners of Riddle’s mouth. He continued to stare at Harry, twirling the wand idly.

“Listen,” said Harry urgently, his knees sagging with Ginny’s dead weight, “We’ve got to go! If the basilisk comes —” but Riddle interrupted him.

“It won’t come until it's called,” he said calmly as Harry lowered Ginny back onto the floor, unable to hold her up any longer.

“What d’you mean?” he asked, panting quietly, then shook his head to dismiss the irrelevant question.  “Look, give me my wand, I might need it —” he tried instead, but he stopped short.

Riddle’s smile had broadened.

He said, “You won’t.”

And then Harry knew there was something very wrong.

“What d’you mean, I won’t —?” he began, carefully keeping the panic out of his voice, but Riddle interrupted once again.

“I’ve waited a long time for this, Harry Potter,” said Riddle, “For the chance to see you. To speak to you.”

“Very flattering,” Harry drawled to hide his nervousness, “,but I don’t think you get it. We’re in the _Chamber of Secrets_ . We can talk _later_.”

“We’re going to talk now,” said Riddle, still smiling broadly, and he pocketed Harry’s wand.

Yep, something was wrong here.

“How did Ginny get like this?” he asked, trying to keep the edge of fear out of his voice. Riddle had just pocketed his only possible weapon.

“Well, that’s an interesting question,” said Riddle pleasantly, as if happy that Harry had thought of it, “And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley’s like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger.

“What are you, a poetry book?” Harry snapped, “Just answer the question.”

Riddle quirked an eyebrow but complied nonetheless. “The diary,” he said, “ _My_ diary. Little Ginny’s been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes — how her brothers tease her, how she had to come to school with secondhand robes and books, how —”, Riddle’s eyes glinted, “— how she didn’t think famous, good, great Harry Potter would ever like her…”

All the time he spoke, Riddle’s eyes never left Harry’s face. There was an almost hungry look in them.

Almost…like…oh Gods.

“You’re a pervert, aren’t you?” Harry asked suddenly, unable to keep the fear out of his voice any longer. Riddle blinked, the grin slipping off of his face as he registered what Harry had just said.

“Wait…what?” he asked confusedly, taking an instinctual step forward, and Harry…

Well, what you have to understand is that Harry had been abused by the Dursleys his whole life. Physically, mentally, emotionally…he thought it was only a matter of time before it turned sexual. Thankfully he had nothing to worry about, but hey; he was twelve. And, well, he was already a bit unhinged from the, er, _incident_ the year previously with the Philosopher’s Stone. So in that moment, with a supposed pervert bearing down on him, something in Harry kind of…snapped.

…Again.

“Stay away from me!” he yelled, almost shrieked, hoisting Ginny up with a burst of adrenaline, “Pervert! Stranger danger! Rape! Help!”

Riddle was staring at Harry incredulously as the Boy-Who-Lived dragged the half-dead redhead away from Slytherin’s statue, wondering where on Earth he had pulled _that_ conclusion from. Oh well…

“Right,” Riddle sighed, massaging his non-existent temples to ward off the headache he technically couldn’t get, “Let’s just skip straight to the part where I have the Basilisk kill you.”

Miraculously this stopped Harry’s screaming, and the boy paused in his flight to ask curiously, “What’s a Basilisk?”

“An extremely poisonous giant snake that can kill with-“ Riddle started carelessly, but was cut off by Harry screaming again. _I suppose I_ could _have worded that differently_ , he mused, then shook his head and turned to Slytherin’s statue. “~ _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts~_ OW!” he yelped, turning to glare at Harry. Said boy had, not five seconds previously, thrown Riddle’s diary with startling precision at the back of the boy’s head.

One wonders how it even made contact.

“Continuing,” Riddle growled, starting again.

“~ _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts~_ OW!” he yelped again, turning to look at Harry once again.

The poor boy had bent down to pull his shoe off and had thrown it at Riddle as well.

Vanishing Harry’s remaining shoe, Riddle waited for Harry to pull something else out to throw at him before he was satisfied that nothing else would interrupt his long-awaited victory. Turning back to the statue, he hissed, “ _~Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four!~_ ” and began laughing maniacally as the statue’s mouth opened and the Basilisk slid out.

However, before he could issue even a single command, he was shocked into stillness when Harry began hissing as well. “ _~I have defeated Tom Marvolo Riddle twice before, once on All Hallows Eve of 1981 in Godric’s Hollow and once last year in the dungeons of the very school you’ve been stalking through, and so by the ancient right of conquest, I claim my rightful position as your master!~_ he hissed to the Basilisk, and it cocked its head to the side curiously.

“ _~Why on Earth are you talking like that?~_ ” it asked in a cultured sort of voice.

“ _~It seemed appropriate,~_ ” Harry hissed, somehow managing to sound deadpan when speaking Parsletongue, then continued, “ _~Anyway, bite that diary!~_ ”

The snake blinked for a second, perplexed, but then seemed to stop caring and slithered around to find the book. It opened its mouth and, ever so carefully, pierced the diary with a fang.

“ _~Thank you,~_ ” Harry said graciously as Riddle calmly exploded, then glanced down as Ginny began to stir. He quickly turned her around, hissing to the Basilisk, “ _~Any way you can turn off your death glare?~_ ”

“ _~A second eyelid that blocks the effects completely,~”_ it replied, and Harry sighed in relief.

 _“~Lower it, if you would. And flick my wand over to me, please,~_ ” Harry asked it, and it complied.

Ginny’s eyes flickered open to find her head resting in the lap of Harry Potter, his hand gently carding through her hair as he smiled down at her softly. She managed to smile back for a moment before the tears overcame her.

“Harry — oh, Harry — I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn’t say it in front of Percy — it was me, Harry — but I — I s-swear I d-didn’t mean to — R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over — and — how did you kill that — that thing? W-where’s Riddle? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary…” she sobbed, and Harry Summoned the diary to show her.

“It’s alright Ginny. See? The diary’s finished, and so is Riddle,” he said comfortingly, strategically dodging the unanswered question of the Basilisk, but she was a bit too smart for him.

“A-and the snake?” she hiccupped hopefully, but when Harry didn’t answer her eyes grew fearful again.

“Uh…don’t look up?”, he tried, but of course that just made her arch her back to see-

“Oh. She fainted. Well,” Harry said, pursing his lips as Fawkes landed beside him. He looked down at the bird to ask, “I don’t suppose you have a way to carry her out of here?”

The phoenix looked up at him, and then they were on fire, and then they weren’t.

“Why didn’t you just do that to rescue her?” he complained to it, and the bird seemed to shrug before fluttering over to his perch. Harry’s eyes followed him until he settled, jumping instinctively to Molly Weasley as she shrieked in relieved joy.

“Ginny!” she cried, rushing over to the girl, but Harry wasn’t paying attention to her. “Fawkes! What about Ron?” he scolded the bird lightly, and he gave Harry a look that seemed to say ‘do I have to’ before hanging his head and flaming away. He returned a moment later with Ron and Lockhart, much to Harry’s chagrin, but he conceded that the blonde-haired idiot couldn’t stay down there. Harry rolled his eyes just before he was enveloped in a hug, courtesy of Molly Weasley.

“You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?” she cried wetly, somehow managing to remain coherent through her relieved crying, and Professor McGonagall nodded her head weakly.

“I think we’d all like to know that.” she stuttered out, but Dumbledore spoke up before Harry could begin explaining.

“I’m pretty sure I have an idea,” the old wizard said, his eyes twinkling merrily, “You showed impressive courage, Harry, and loyalty to me, which called Fawkes to you so you could pull the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat to slay the Basilisk.”

He was apparently ignoring the fact that the Sorting Hat was sitting on its regular perch, and that the Sword of Gryffindor was nowhere in sight. Harry was immensely confused.

“What? That’s crazy! I accused Riddle of being a pervert and took control of the Basilisk while he was stunned,” he said dismissively.

Dumbledore’s eye twinkle seemed to bloom into a spark for a moment before dimming completely, evidence of his brain short-circuiting. McGonagall’s everything was twitching, Mrs. Weasley was staring at Harry, aghast that he knew what a pervert was, and Mr. Weasley was nodding appreciatively. “Effective, it seems,” he said, and Harry smirked.

“Indubitably,” he replied.

“What’s a pervert?” Ginny questioned innocently.


	3. Temporal Shenanigans

Harry had never been part of a stranger group.

Crookshanks led the way down the stairs. Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron went next, looking like entrants in a six-legged race. Next came Professor Snape drifting creepily along, his toes hitting each stair as they descended, being held up by his own wand pointed at him by Sirius. Harry and Hermione brought up the rear.

Getting back into the tunnel was…difficult, to put it one way. The trio of Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron had to turn sideways to manage it and make sure Lupin still had Pettigrew covered with his wand. Harry could see them edging awkwardly along the tunnel in single file, Crookshanks still in the lead. Harry went right after Black, who was still making Snape drift along ahead of them. Snape’s lolling head kept bumping on the low ceiling.

Harry had the impression Black was making no effort to prevent this.

"You know what this means?" Black asked Harry abruptly as they made their slow progress along the tunnel, "Turning Pettigrew in?"

"You' re free," Harry realised after a moment of thought.

"Yes," Black acknowledged, "But I'm also- I don't know if anyone ever told you- I'm your godfather." 

"Yeah, I knew that," the young raven confirmed.

"Well... your parents appointed me your guardian," said Black stiffly, and it seemed to Harry that he was working very hard to not look back at him, "If anything happened to them..."

Harry waited. Did Black mean what he thought he meant?

"I'll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle," said Black in a pained kind of tone, "But... well... think about it. Once my name's cleared... if you wanted a... a different home..."

Some sort of explosion took place in the pit of Harry's stomach.

"What -- live with you?" he asked, accidentally cracking his head on a bit of rock protruding from the ceiling. Hermione giggled a little beside him, but he paid her no mind as he asked, "Leave the Dursleys?"

"Of course, I thought you wouldn't want to," said Black quickly, disappointedly "I understand, I just thought I'd-"

"Are you insane?!" Harry exclaimed, his voice easily as croaky as Black's and a wide smile on his face, "Of course I want to leave the Dursleys! Have you got a house?! When can I move in?!"

Black turned right around to look at him; Snape's head was scraping the ceiling but Black didn't seem to care. To be fair, though, neither did Harry. 

"You want to?" he asked breathlessly, as if he didn’t dare believe it, "You mean it?"

"Yeah, I mean it!" said Harry.

Black's gaunt face broke into the first true smile Harry had seen upon it. The difference it made was startling, as though a person ten years younger were shining through the starved mask. For a moment, he was recognizable as the man who had laughed at Harry's parents' wedding.

They did not speak again until they had reached the end of the tunnel. Crookshanks darted up first; he had evidently pressed his paw to the knot on the trunk, because Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron clambered upward without any sound of savaging branches.

Black saw Snape up through the hole, then stood back for Harry and Hermione to pass. At last, all of them were out.

The grounds were very dark now, the only light coming from the distant windows of the castle, and without a word they all set off. Pettigrew was still wheezing and occasionally whimpering, but Harry paid him no mind through the buzzing in his mind.

He was going to leave the Dursleys. He was going to live with Sirius Black, his parents' best friend.

He honestly felt kind of dazed. What would happen when he told the Dursleys he was going to live with the convict they'd seen on television?!

The thought made him giggle a little.

"One wrong move, Peter," said Lupin threateningly, and Harry snapped back to attention. His wand was still pointed sideways at Pettigrew's chest.

Silently they tramped through the grounds, the castle lights growing slowly larger. Snape was still drifting weirdly ahead of Black, his chin bumping on his chest. And then -

A cloud shifted. There were suddenly dim shadows on the ground. Their party was bathed in moonlight.

Snape collided with Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron, who had stopped abruptly.

Black froze. He flung out one arm to make Harry and Hermione stop as well.

Harry could see Lupin's silhouette. He had gone rigid. Then his limbs began to shake.

"Oh, my-" Hermione gasped. "He didn't take his potion tonight! He's not safe!"

"Run," Black whispered. "Run. Now."

But Harry couldn't run. Ron was in danger, chained to Lupin through Pettigrew. He leapt forward, but Black caught him around the chest and threw him back.

"Leave it to me! RUN!"

There was a terrible snarling noise. Lupin's head and body was lengthening. His shoulders were hunching. Hair was sprouting visibly on his face and hands, which were curling into clawed paws. Crookshanks's hair was on end again; he was backing away—

As the werewolf reared, snapping its long jaws, Sirius disappeared from Harry's side, transforming quickly into Padfoot. The enormous, bearlike dog bounded forward, and as the werewolf wrenched itself free of the manacle binding it, the dog seized it about the neck and pulled it backward.

They were locked, jaw to jaw, claws ripping at each other.

Harry stood, transfixed by the sight, too intent upon the battle to notice anything else. It was Hermione's scream that alerted him-

Pettigrew had dived for Lupin's dropped wand. Ron, unsteady on his bandaged leg, fell. There was a bang, a burst of light- and Ron lay motionless on the ground.

Another bang- Crookshanks flew into the air and back to the earth in a heap.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry yelled, pointing his own wand at Pettigrew; Lupin's wand flew high into the air and out of sight. "Stay where you are!" Harry shouted, running forward.

But it was too late. Pettigrew had already transformed. Harry saw his bald tail whip through the manacle on Ron's outstretched arm and heard a scurrying through the grass.

There was a howl and a rumbling growl; Harry turned to see the werewolf taking flight; it was galloping into the forest-

Everything was happening so fast-

Harry just needed a moment to think-

Just a moment-

To-

Now, what you have to understand is, Harry was a little unstrung at this point in his life. After being with the Dursleys for as far back as he could remember, not to mention the whole kerfuffle with being dismissed by McGonagall _and_ the thing with the Chamber of Secrets…

Well.

His head wasn’t the soundest of places to begin with. So really, it was only natural that at this flurry of activity and overstimulation, something inside of him would snap.

Snap it did, and his magic replied.

“IMMOBULUS!” Harry shrieked, thrusting his wand into the sky, and a shockwave of blue magic erupted out of it and screamed across the grounds. Hermione and Ron were caught first, for whatever that counted for; Ron was still unconscious, and Hermione was cowering in fear at everything happening.

Then it washed over Snape, Crookshanks, and more importantly, Pettigrew. Two of them were also unconscious and the third was rather small, so nothing really happened there.

Then it reached Lupin, and that’s where it got good. Werewolves are naturally magical creatures, so it stands to reason that more magic than normal would be needed to immobilize one. The blue wave of power impacted Lupin and drew into him, the rest of the magic getting pulled along as his fur began sparking an iridescent blue.

When the sparks faded and Harry’s vision returned, Lupin was suspended mid leap in the air, unable to move.

Harry had just enough time to blink, summon Pettigrew to his hand, and put him into his pocket, before severe magical exhaustion caught up with him.

He blacked out.

* * *

If you had asked Harry the week before what he would do if he found out he had living family that wasn’t the Dursleys, breaking them out prison would not have been his first answer.

But here he was, twelve hours into the past of a day he’d already lived once, trying to save not only Sirius freaking Black but also Buckbeak the freaking Hippogriff.

If he didn’t already know his life was messed up, this would have confirmed it.

Rescuing Buckbeak had gone smoothly enough, although being hit by the same projectile for a second time had hurt just as much as the first. Something about the resonance of matter across pseudo-temporal borders…honestly, all he had gotten out of that was that he and Past Harry were made of the same matter and what matters to him also matters to himself.

He told Hermione she should go into professional baseball. She blushed and shoved a dead ferret at him.

Now, after waiting for a couple of hours for those bloody slow wankers to emerge from the Whomping Willow (“They’re _us_ , Harry, don’t call them wankers!”), they had finally reached the climax of their grand adventure _for the second time_. There was the full moon, the transformation, Pettigrew escaping as Sirius and Lupin battled it out, Harry’s explosion of magic…

Except where was Sirius? He didn’t seem to be there, and that couldn’t be, because he was currently sitting in the North Tower (or at least he would be…)

“Point Me Sirius Black!” Hermione whispered, casting nervous glances at the still-frozen Lupin, and her wand spun around before pointing towards the Black Lake.

They went quickly.

Sirius was slumped on the edge of the lake, detransformed and unconscious. It seemed his injuries had been too much for him to bear, and he had slunk away to lick his wounds.

Unfortunately for all of them, the lake began to ice over. Their breath came out in puffs of air in front of their faces, and a feeling of dread settled deep in the pits of their stomachs.

The Dementors had arrived.

They swooped down from the sky and made pass after pass at Harry’s downed godfather. Pass after pass, pained rattle after choked scream. Hermione had to physically hold him back from rushing to Sirius’ side, because, “He’s _fine_ Harry, he’s in the North Tower!”

“But does he still have his soul?!” Harry yelled desperately at her, and in the sudden silence that followed, both their gazes were drawn to the glowing ball of light hovering over Sirius’ head.

Harry snapped once again.

He broke Hermione’s grip on his arm, although it had slackened considerably, and ran forwards. Tugging his wand from his pocket and thrusting it forward in a single smooth motion, he narrowed his eyes and thought of his unbridled elation at leaving the Dursley’s forever.

He exhaled.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” he roared, and the magic exploded out of him in a bullet of white light that rocketed across the lake. It pierced a Dementor clear through before expanding and unfurling protectively overtop of Sirius’ prostrate form.

It was a stag, a magnificent buck with antlers as wide as Harry was tall and curling as ivy. It stood over its master’s godfather with a defiant stare in its eyes, and then gave a snort before stamping a hoof.

Immediately, a wave of that same Patronus-light burst forth, pushing the Dementors away and out of the clearing. There it settled, hovering incandescently, and there it remained until Hermione whispered to Harry that she could see people coming down the slope towards the Whomping Willow.

* * *

“So you agree, Harry, that it would be best for you to return to the Dursleys’ for the summer?” Dumbledore enquired kindly, and Harry gave a sad smile.

“Bloody buggering _fuck_ to the no,” he said calmly, and Dumbledore choked on his lemon drop, “I’ll become a fugitive myself if I have to, but Privet Drive will _never_ be my home again.”

Now, some of the silver instruments in Dumbledore’s office were indeed keyed to Harry, but they were much too small to monitor something as complicated as blood wards.

The entire North Tower exploded.


	4. Interview

"Well. This is cozy," Rita Skeeter said with a sickening smile as they settled into the broom cupboard. It was the Weighing of the Wands ceremony for the Triwizard Tournament, an event where a professional wandmaker ensured that the wands of the contestants were in perfect working order. She had taken one look at him, grinned in a way that Harry could only describe as hungry, and latched onto his arm to pull him away to a broom closet.

Harry was a bit nervous, and more than a bit miffed at her brazenness, but she was only a persistent reporter. How bad could she be? He idly watched as she pulled a notepad and quill out of- 

Oh Wizard God she had a Quick Quotes Quill.

Hermione had warned him about those. They were like Dictaquills, but they printed nothing you said truthfully. In fact, they pretty much made up their own sentences. With dread in his stomach, Harry watched her balance the quill on her notepad, and as she it was she began rapid-firing questions at him.

Even though he wasn't even saying one word the quill was scribbling furiously, and Harry managed to catch a few words written on the pad before the quill flipped the page.

He was immediately angered.

'Cry myself to sleep over the thought of my parents?!' he mentally screeched, growing angrier and angrier by the second. How  _ dare  _ she write those things to be printed in the newspaper?!

Finally, though, a sense of calm, cool clarity stole over him as something inside him that never really healed since the incidents from first and second year...snapped. For the third time.

And then the clarity was gone, to be replaced by an insanity rivaling Voldemort’s.

"LIES!" he shrieked, seizing the quill and pad and kicking the door open, "You're writing lies about me! How  _ dare _ you?!”

The other contestants, Ludo, and Ollivander watched with slack jaws as the Boy-Who-Lived, their Illicit Champion of Hogwarts, went utterly and completely bonkers. “Well, I won’t stand for it!” he ranted with fire in his eyes, “You wanna send lies about me to the  _ Prophet _ ? Fine! Then  _ I'll _ send  _ truths _ about  _ you _ !"

He ripped the written-on pages out of the notepad and threw them in the nearby fireplace before balancing the quill and dictating to the scared-straight magical object, "Rita Skeeter, celebrated Head Reporter of the  _ Daily Prophet _ , is in fact an unregistered Animagus!"

Ignoring the shocked gasps of those in attendance he continued, "This reporter has discovered that she can, at will, assume the form of a jewel-blue beetle in order to spy on those who have refused her an interview! The next time you want to discuss anything of any great importance, liberal amounts of bug spray is recommended."

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Rita trying to sneak out the door, but a flick of his wand stopped that notion. “ Going so soon? I wouldn't hear of it. Why, my little party's just beginning,” he said, a manic look in his eye.   
  
He turned back to the quill. "Wow, she really is a horrible person," he mused, grinning at Cedric's laughing before wondering, "I wonder what her Patronus is? Maybe it's Lord Voldemort. Or a Dementor! Or perhaps it’s the illegitimate, drunken love-child of said Dark Lord and magical creature! A Voldementor."

He grinned wider at Fleur's giggles, muffled by a hand, and continued, "And what of her Boggart's form? What is her biggest fear? Happiness, maybe? Rainbows, perhaps? How about the laughter of children? Maybe she  _ herself _ is a Boggart, and Rita Skeeter is simply everybody else's greatest fear!"

Now even Krum was laughing, a deep rumbling chuckle that shook the desks around them.   
  
Ollivander was rolling about on the floor, and Ludo Bagman was snickering quietly, in case you were wondering.   
  
Harry smiled even wider and plucked the paper from the notepad, holding his arm up and calling for Hedwig. As the bird flew in through the nearby window, Rita’s eyes widened, and she cried out, “No, please don’t! I – I didn’t mean for my quill to write things like that! It was an accident, honest!”

“Well, my little pretty, I can cause accidents too!” Harry said gleefully, tying the page to Hedwig’s leg with an expert quickness and throwing his arm up. "Fly, my pretty, fly!" he yelled after his owl with a bout of maniacal laughter, then looked at Rita and warned, “And if you even  _ think  _ about trying this on anybody, ever again, I’ll come after you. Just try to stay out of my way, just try. I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little quill too!”

Then he unshrunk his Firebolt from its place in his pocket, kissed Cedric full on the mouth, and jumped out the window with a cry of, "To the Emerald City, as fast as lightning!"


	5. Detention

Harry tentatively knocked on the door of Umbridge's office, somewhat earlier than usual. He was a bit peeved at having detention before dinner, but Umbridge had assigned so many that his simply  _ had _ to be bumped up. A sickeningly sweet voice bid him to enter, so he pushed the door open and was momentarily blinded by the brightly lit, bright pink room.

After his vision had returned (mostly), he sat down in front of a patiently waiting Umbridge. "I assume you know why you are here?" she asked, and Harry raised an eyebrow.

"For telling the truth," he said flatly, and with her smile just a  _ tad  _ more strained than before, Umbridge took out a piece of parchment and a quill, sliding them across the table to Harry.

"You will be writing 'I must not tell lies'," she told him, and he sighed heavily.

"How many times?" he asked in a resigned tone, and he wasn’t too proud to admit that the sickening smile she gave him made him seriously consider wetting his pants.

"Until the message...sinks in," she replied pleasantly, and now a bit confused Harry moved to the desk placed against the wall.

As soon as he made the first scratch he mentally recoiled in horror, dropping the quill to the desk. It was a Blood Quill. Hermione had warned him about those, as had some of the Huffle-and-Puffle-and-blow-your-house-downs. They used the writer's  _ own blood _ to write the message, and whatever they wrote was carved on the back of the hand used to write. They were illegal throughout wizard Britain, except to sign certain contracts requiring a blood signature.

Harry was pretty sure neither the Ministry nor Professor Dumbledore, the wisest, kindest, most beautiful wizard  _ ever _ knew about Umbridge having these repulsive things here, and so he pushed the thing away from him and stood up petulantly.

"Something wrong, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge asked sweetly, and Harry glared at her.

That's a Blood Quill," he said disgustedly, but she only smiled wider.

"I am aware, Mr. Potter. Please write your lines," she ordered, but Harry was having none of it.

"No! Those things are illegal, and illegal for a reason,” he protested.

"No?" Umbridge asked with false cheer, standing up slowly and moving around her desk, "May I remind you, Mr. Potter, that I am your Professor, and as such you have to do as I say. Now sit down and write your lines!"

At these words she seized Harry's arms and tried to force him into the chair, but at that moment his mind flashed back to second year, to a perverted memory that had tried to molest him (as far as he was concerned) and something inside him that had only recently been repaired...snapped.    
  
Well, more like crumbled.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" he screamed, as loud as he could and with as much fear as he could muster. He began struggling wildly, thrashing against Umbridge as he screamed various things along the lines of, "Rape!", "Cougar!", "I thought the princess was supposed to kiss the frog, not the evil step-grandmother!", and, of course, the ever popular, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

Umbridge released him after a few moments of struggling and the poor boy scrambled back, scrabbling for his wand and pointing it at Umbridge. "Don't come near me! I'm warning you!" he yelled, his hand shaking wildly.

Umbridge smiled benignly and said, "Come now, Mr. Potter, you are entirely too old for these shenanigans. Please return to your seat and start your lines."

"NO!" he shouted fearfully, "And stay back! If you try to make me, I'll melt you!"

Umbridge raised an eyebrow and said, "A fifth year could not possibly know how to work such advanced magic. Come now, Mr. Potter," taking a step forward with her hand outstretched.

Harry let loose with aguamenti.

* * *

 

Harry Potter was enjoying his dinner when his Head of House walked up to him with a questioning look on her face. "Mr. Potter, students who had detention with Professor Umbridge told me she was nowhere to be found. You were the last to have detention with her, so do you know where she is?" she asked.

The entire Hall was silent, awaiting his answer, and so without looking up from his paper he replied quite casually, "She tried to rape me, so I melted her with aguamenti."   
  
Every Muggleborn in the hall burst out laughing.


	6. The Veil

The members of the DA cheered with glee and relief as the Order of the Phoenix thundered down the steps of the Death Chamber and started blasting Death Eaters left, right, and centre. Mad-Eye Moody was by far the most brutal, Bone Breakers and Slashing Hexes felling the black-cloaked terrorists with sprays of blood and pained cries, but there was also something to be said about how Tonks whirled around like a multicolored tornado, a rainbow of destruction flying from her wand with her hair and skin changing color to confuse her adversaries.

Harry found himself up on the dias with the strange freestanding arch, battling against Lucius Malfoy and another Death Eater he didn’t recognize with his godfather by his side. Laughing in exaltation, because Sirius was  _ fine  _ and he was  _ awesome _ , Harry blasted the strange Death Eater backwards as Sirius disarmed Lucius with a quick flick of his wand. Whirling around with a wide smile, Harry made a slash at the blonde man, and a bright band of energy lashed out to bind the Death Eater and stick him against the wall.

“Nice one, Harry!” Sirius crowed, holding his hand up for a high-five, and Harry gladly obliged him. Caught up in the emotions of the moment, he allowed himself to think that everything might end up alr-

From behind him, a bolt of red slammed into Sirius and crackled over his skin, making his eyes bulge out and stripping the smile from his face. As if in slow motion, Harry turned to see Bellatrix Lestrange grinning in manic triumph, a crazed cackle issuing from her lips.

With his mind as blank as it was and his magic supercharged by the ambient energy of the Death Arch, Harry’s senses spread out to feel around the room, and in that instant he could feel everyone and everything around him as it proceeded in slow motion. The various fights around the room, his godfather falling through the veil behind him, and Albus Dumbledore standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching everything.

For some reason, this felt strange to Harry, and so he opened the eyes that he didn’t remember closing and zeroed in on the aged wizard. He was watching the dias with an unusual seriousness in his eyes, a sombre flatness to his usually-sparkling blue orbs, and in a flash of insight and mind magic, Harry understood.

_ He was letting Sirius fall through the veil. _

Now, what you have to understand is, Harry was still in a very fragile mental state from his meltdown that led to melting down Umbridge. He was tired from the fighting, high on adrenaline, and just a bit unhinged from the multiple cracks in his psyche that his years at Hogwarts had made. Taking all of this into account, it could be excused that in that moment, something inside of Harry that had only recently crumbled because of his run-in with Umbridge just...well, it couldn’t break down any more since it had already crumbled. Perhaps it just...caught fire.

“CARPE RETRACTUM!” Harry roared, whirling around with his wand held loosely in his fingers. The beam of energy latched onto Sirius and tugged him away from the Veil, snapping taught and letting him go so that he flew through the air and bowled into two Death Eaters that thought it might be a good idea to  _ Avada Kedavra  _ Ron and Hermione from behind. Their Killing Curses went off course, blowing through Hermione’s hair and only  _ just  _ missing Ron’s ear to slam into the two Death Eaters that had distracted the dueling pair.

All movement in the Death Chamber ceased at the raw fury in Harry’s voice, DA and Death Eater alike watching in awe and fear as Harry Potter stalked across the floor to smack Albus Dumbledore clear across the face.

“YOU  _ WANTED  _ HIM TO FALL INTO THE VEIL!” the enraged boy screamed at his mentor, the one he had trusted over everyone else in the Wizarding World.

Now, what you have to understand is, Albus Dumbledore was getting old. He had been alive for just shy of one hundred fifty years, and as such, it was to be expected that he couldn’t plan for literally  _ every  _ eventuality. He had planned for Voldemort getting in on the action, he had planned for every escape attempt that the Death Eaters might pull, he had even planned for an eldritch abomination pulling itself from the depths of the Death Arch and lodging itself in the head of Mundungus Fletcher, but what he  _ hadn’t  _ planned for was Harry Potter, the one who was destined to defeat Voldemort, becoming wise to his schemes of keeping the boy meek and pliable.

Taking all of this into account, he could be forgiven for simply staring dumbly for a moment before choking out a simple, “Yes.”

At that moment, Harry’s magic spiked with enough rage and murderous intent that it reached for the only explanation that it could. In that moment, the spectre of Sybil Trelawney that had disappeared once she had delivered her prophecy was pulled through time to reappear on Harry’s shoulder, giving an uncharacteristically sadistic grin to Dumbledore before leaning forward to whisper the entirety of the prophecy into Harry’s ear.

His face hardening more and more the more he listened, the young boy was just about shaking with suppressed rage by the time the recording had finished. Turning around to address everyone present, she yelled out, “Good luck!” before vanishing in a puff of smoke.

Her voice seemed to snap Harry out of his reverie. Whirling around for the third time that day, he strode back to the Veil even as he made a shallow cut on his hand with his magic. Thrusting the bloody appendage past the rippling curtain hung in the arch, he hissed in a language that sounded like Parseltongue but wasn’t, “ _ Anything wearing an enchanted tattoo of a skull and snake is yours _ ,” fixing an image of the Dark Mark in his head.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, though, Harry felt a slimy  _ something  _ sneak forward to sample his blood even as an equally slimy something wormed its way into his mind to take a look at the Dark Mark. It continued to lap at the cut on his hand even as boggy magic seeped out from behind the Veil to fill the room; as it touched the walls, the doors disappeared, and as it touched Death Eaters, they crumpled to the ground with blank expressions on their faces.

No words came forth, but Harry felt a sense of acceptance being pushed into his mind, and so he withdrew his hand from the Veil even as the acceptance was withdrawn to be replaced with a questioning feeling.   
  
Turning to smirk at Dumbledore’s stunned form, he pushed his request at the Veil and waited.

The shadows in the dark room twisted and spasmed as they took on physical form, long appendages made of pure darkness slithering forward the wrap around the Death Eaters and drag them forward. One Death Eater after another was brought forward to be unceremoniously flung into the Veil, the DA and the Order of the Phoenix watching wide-eyed and helpless, and once they had all disappeared behind the curtain, the tentacles dispersed back into mere shadow as the doors reappeared.

All was silent in the Chamber of Death. Nobody dared move an inch.

Then Harry gave a short bark of laughter and pivoted on a heel, jumping off the dias and making his way up the stairs.

“DA, Sirius! Move out!” he ordered with a slightly insane smile on his face, and his five friends and godfather jerked as if they were the ones that had been slapped instead of Dumbledore. Then, though, the five from the DA shrugged at each other and followed the one they had named their leader, and after a moment’s hesitation, Sirius started off as well.

The Order of the Phoenix did not move for some time.

“Um, Harry?” Hermione asked him tentatively as they stepped off the lift into the Atrium.

“Yes Hermione?” he answered cheerfully, a skip in his step.

“What, exactly, did you do down there?” she put forth, a little emboldened by his apparent happiness, and he turned to smile at her.

“I made a deal,” he told her cheerily, and Sirius’ eyes widened in alarm.

“A deal? Pup, that’s never a good idea. It’s called ‘making a deal with the devil’ for a reason,” he warned, but Harry only laughed.

“No no, not a deal with a demon. A deal with my mum and dad. Their magic only felt slimy because it was reaching back from beyond the veil of death, and they used shadows because they’re the most dramatic people to have ever lived,” he told the stunned group, and Sirius gave a surprised bark of laughter.

“They were, at that,” he agreed, and then asked, “So what did you ask for, pup?”

The boy hesitated for a moment, pausing his walking, before starting forward again and hedging, “Well, y’know how there’s no secrets in death?”

The group nodded their general understanding of the principal, and so Harry cheerfully continued, “Well, since there’s no secrets, magic to hide things doesn’t mean squat.”

“And?” Neville asked nervously, because it seemed like his friend was building up to some kind of big reveal.

“ _ And _ , how would you guys like to visit Atlantis?” he asked.

His five friends and godfather tripped over their feet, doing a set of truly impressive faceplants into the marble of the Atrium floor.


	7. Lessons

“Shut the door behind you, Potter,” Snape ordered, and Harry did as he was told with a horrible feeling of imprisoning himself. When he turned back into the room, Snape had moved into the light and was pointing silently at the chair opposite his desk. Harry sat down and so did Snape, his cold black eyes fixed unblinkingly upon Harry with dislike etched in every line on his face.

“Well, Potter, you know why you are here,” he said, “The Headmaster has asked me to teach you Occlumency. I can only hope that you prove more adept  at it than at Potions.”

“Right,” Harry said tersely, his head trying to remind him of something. Something important…

“This may not be an ordinary class, Potter,” said Snape, his eyes narrowed malevolently, “but I am still your teacher and you will therefore call me ‘sir’ or ‘Professor’ at all times.”

“Yes… _ sir,” _ said Harry.

“Now, Occlumency. As I told you back in your dear godfather’s kitchen, this branch of magic seals the mind against magical intrusion and influence,” Snape informed him smoothly.

“And why does Professor Dumbledore think I need it, sir?” Harry asked, looking directly into Snape’s eyes and wondering whether the Potions Master would answer.

Snape looked back at him for a moment and then said contemptuously, “Surely even you could  have worked that out by now, Potter? The Dark Lord is highly skilled at Legilimency-“ but Harry interrupted him.

“What’s that?  _ Sir _ ?” he asked curiously, tacking on the last word as an afterthought.

“It is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person’s mind-“ Snape began, and was again cut off by the Boy-Who-Lived.

“He can read minds?!” Harry nearly shrieked, his eyes widening in horror, but Snape only sneered.

“You have no subtlety, Potter, nor do you understand the fine distinctions. It is one of the shortcomings that makes you such a lamentable potion-maker,” he quipped, but Harry only rolled his eyes.

“Actually, that’s because of your complete inability to actually teach, but please continue,” Harry implored with a dazzling smile. Snape had to blink quickly to keep from going blind, even though there wasn’t actually much light for Harry’s teeth to reflect.   
  
“Right,” Snape growled, obviously annoyed and thrown out of the mood to explain as he stood up and took out his wand. He smirked at Harry’s flinch, but  merely raised his wand to his temple and drew out a strand of memory. He flicked the silvery substance into a Pensieve and repeated twice more, picking the shallow bowl up and placing it on a shelf out of the way.

He then faced Harry and snapped, “Stand, Potter, and take out your wand!”

Harry quickly complied, standing uncertainly as Snape composed his thoughts. “I am going to attempt to penetrate your mental defences with Legilimency,” he told the boy without further preamble, “You may use whatever power you possess to stop me. I have been told that you are at least somewhat competent at throwing off the Imperius Curse, and so you will be grateful to know that this is similar to that. Now…brace yourself.  _ Legilimens! _ ”

Snape had struck before Harry was ready, before he could even think about thinking about thinking about summoning some form of resistance. The office swam in front of his eyes and vanished, image after image racing through his mind like a blinding film reel.

He was five, watching Dudley riding a new red bicycle with jealousy…

He was nine, being chased up the tree by Ripper…

He was sitting under the Sorting Hat, being told he would be great in Slytherin…

And then, through some great universal prank (the Weasley twins were infecting it, he was sure), Snape chose to focus on the memory of Umbridge’s detention.

And that’s when something inside him, something that hadn’t had time to heal since then …snapped.

And then crumbled.

And then was set on fire.

The scene immediately shifted to a place of stuffy darkness, and Snape found himself shoved into a tiny space with no way out and no way to see. Harry, who was watching through the one-way walls from his place standing on…well, nothing, watched in fascination as light only he could see revealed him to be in... 

Oh ho ho ho, this was gonna be fun.

He smiled evilly and closed his eyes, wondering if he could…maybe just…

“BOY! Get up and make breakfast!” Vernon roared, unlocking the door of the cupboard under the stairs and pulling ‘Harry’ out by his greasy hair. Harry stepped out of sight around the doorframe before Snape could catch sight of him, not entirely trusting his own mind to keep him hidden from the most likely irate Potions Master.

“What are you blathering about, you bumbling oaf?” Snape demanded, but this proved to be the wrong thing to say as Vernon backhanded him across the face.

“No backtalk! Get in the kitchen and cook breakfast!” Vernon roared again, and Snape narrowed his eyes before going for his wand.

‘Oh…oops,’ Harry thought with a laugh, looking down at the wand clutched in his hand.

“Potter! Get out here! Show yourself!” Snape yelled, completely ignoring the purpling beluga whale in front of him, but was stunned when Vernon grabbed him by the back of his cloak.

“I said MAKE BREAKFAST!” Vernon all but screamed, spittle flying onto Snape’s face before he was quite literally thrown into the kitchen. He picked himself up off the floor, throwing a disdainful ‘hmmph’ at Petunia Dursley before crossing to the back door and heaving it open to see the front hall.

Indeed, through the doorway he could see himself looking at himself looking at himself looking at…well, you get the picture.

“Breakfast! Now!” Petunia screeched, thrusting a pan into Snape’s hands and pushing him toward the stove. He growled, seized the woman, and opened the oven door.

He was fully intent on stuffing her inside, but the moment he opened it a miniature centaur bounded out.

It quickly grew to normal size in front of Snape’s astonished eyes and picked the wizard up easily, slinging the man over his shoulder as he trotted to the front hall and up the stairs to Petunia and Vernon’s bedroom.

Harry watched with gleeful eyes as the Potions Master was dragged up the stairs kicking and screaming, grinning at Snape and pushing the scenario into  _ his  _ mind (along with a psyche-lock, ensuring he couldn’t escape before it was over). Then he waved cheerfully and vanished from the scene.

* * *

 

“Mr. Potter,” Minerve McGonagall said, wary to approach the boy after the whole Umbridge fiasco, “I abhor having to do this, but I must ask…where is Professor Snape? Nobody has seen him since yesterday.”

Harry looked up from his breakfast and blinked, then glanced at the rest of the hall and stood up. He made his way to the front of the room and held his hands up for quiet. Then, with a solemn look on his face, he hefted his goblet high and said loudly, “A toast, to Professor Snape.”

The students and staff looked confused, but nonetheless raised their goblets in Snape’s honor. As they sipped their drinks in reverence of the fallen man, Harry said sadly, “Tragically raped by a centaur while trying to teach me Occlumency.”

Half the first through third years fainted, the other half started coughing and fell to the ground with red faces, the fourth through sixth years spat their drinks all over themselves and each other, and the seventh years calmly resumed their breakfast. They were used to this sort of thing by now…


End file.
